The Day Draco Got Lost
by LynstHolin
Summary: Mild Drarry-in-the-making. On his eleventh birthday, Draco Malfoy gets lost on the way to Diagon Alley and meets a boy named Harry Potter. This is a complete fic in itself, but any sequels will be added as additional chapters.


"I want to go by myself," Draco announced to his parents. It was his eleventh birthday, which was a very important day. He had gotten his letter from Hogwarts at breakfast, which, even though it was expected, had made him deliriously happy. Now all three Malfoys were headed to Diagon Alley, for ice cream at Fortescue's and to pick out an owl to send to Hogwarts with Draco. Lucius and Narcissa were just about to step into the drawing room fireplace when Draco got up on his tiptoes and grabbed his own handful of Floo powder.

"I suppose," his mother said. "Don't forget to speak very clearly, dear."

"I know, I know," he replied impatiently as he stepped in, carefully avoiding the andirons. "Diago-CHOO!" He was surprised by an explosive sneeze just as he threw the powder at his feet.

Dozens of rooms flashed by rapidly. Draco's trip through the Floo network ended with him looking at a couch upholstered in puce velvet. The elderly witch sitting on it leapt up, knocking over her tea set. "Get out!" she screeched as she grabbed her cane. "I'm tired of you young rapscallions stealing my best doilies and tea cozies!" She started smacking Draco about the head with the cane. He yelped as he covered himself with his arms, barely making it around the woman's unlaced combat boots as he darted out of the fireplace. "_And don't come back, you scallywag_!" she shouted after him as he threw her front door open and dashed out to the street.

Draco looked up and down the street, but didn't see anything familiar. Rows of semi-detached houses lined both sides. The street itself was odd, made up not of cobblestones, but of some smooth black substance painted with stripes. Well, Diagon Alley couldn't be far, could it? Draco noticed a man staring at him. "Excuse me, sir, am I near the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Is it Halloween?" the man replied.

"No, it's only June the fifth," Draco said. He backed away from the man slowly; wherever he was, the people were a bit off their rockers.

"What's with the costume, then?"

Draco frowned as he considered the question. It made no sense. He was dressed in his best everyday robes and looked every inch a proper wizard, from his pointed hat down to his lace-up boots. To get away from the madman, he stepped out into the street. A large, stinking beast came roaring around the corner, nearly running him over. With a screech, Draco sprang back onto the sidewalk.

He had forgotten about _automobiles_. They were horrible things. He didn't understand how Muggles could bear to be inside them. Well, if there were automobiles on the street, then he was definitely nowhere near Diagon Alley. _What do I do now? _he wondered as he meandered down the street, careful to stay out of the way of the wheeled horrors. As the street widened and grew busier, the houses were replaced by businesses, including a gaudy building with giant golden arches on the roof that emitted an oddly enticing greasy smell. Draco stopped, sniffing the air and wondering what would happen if he tried to buy Muggle food with Sickles and Knutes.

"Oi! Who do you think you are?" asked a sneering voice. "Or, _what_ do you think you are?"

Draco found his way blocked by a group of teenaged boys. They seemed to all be twice as tall as he was, and wore over-sized track suits that made them seem even more hulking. "I- I'm just trying to get to Diagon Alley," he said. He tried backing away, but one of the boys was right behind him. Two of them moved to flank him, but he was able to slip past, though he lost his hat to the hands that grabbed at him. He started running.

"Get the freak!" one of the older boys shouted, and Draco heard five pairs of feet pounding after him. He darted through alleys and back streets and gardens and around a tower block and then he came to the widest, busiest street he had ever seen. Six lanes of automobiles whizzed past at high speed. Trying to cross it would be certain death. "There he is!"

Oh, blast, the older boys were still after him. Draco whipped his head back and forth, frantically looking for a way to escape. He spotted a loose board on a tall wooden fence. A good yank opened a gap just wide enough to let him crawl through. A hand caught his foot, but he managed to kick it off and then he was safe on the other side. There was no way the gang could follow unless they disassembled the fence.

_Where am I now_? Draco wondered. He was behind a cinderblock building, and could hear the sounds of laughter and splashing and children shrieking happily. Coming out from behind the building, he saw something he did not quite comprehend. He had been to beaches, and one of his father's friends had a swimming pool, but nothing he had ever seen compared to the sunlit, brightly colored aquatic paradise that spread out before him. There were swimming pools everywhere: a pool with waves like the ocean, a kiddie pool with brightly colored animals to sit on, a lazy-flowing artificial river that ringed the park. In the middle rose a tower of tangled tubes in primary colors; happy, screaming people popped out of the bottoms of the tubes and landed in water.

_And me without my swimming costume_, he thought. Perhaps he could get his parents to bring him here another day, though he feared his father would refuse to let him visit such a Mugglish place.

Draco's attention was caught by a cup full of a blue substance floating through the air. It was caught by a skinny, rumple-haired boy. He was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt that were far too big for him, a Muggle style that Draco didn't understand, but, obviously, he was a wizard. Not the sort of boy his father would want him to spend time with, most likely, but the Muggle world was awfully big and loud and confusing, and Draco wanted to be near something _familiar._ Perhaps the boy could help him get back where he belonged. Draco walked over to the bench where the boy sat and plopped down next to him.

...

Of course, Harry did not get to have fun at the water park. All he got to do was watch enviously as Dudley went down the labyrinthine water slides over and over again, as his aunt in her ruffled bathing suit reclined on a lilo trying to catch a tan, as his uncle belly-flopped into the wave pool. Someone had to sit on the bench and watch Petunia's purse, and Dudley's hoodie, and Vernon's sunglasses. Anyway, the only swim suit he owned was an old pair of Dudley's trunks that were so big on him, they fell off once they got waterlogged.

So here Harry was, at the newest, biggest, and best water park in the UK, bored out of his mind. Watching others have fun got old fast. And sitting directly in the sun was starting to make his head hurt. He was thirsty, but had no money to buy a drink. A girl at a table ten feet away had just bought some sort of delicious-looking blue concoction, and Harry wished desperately that it was his. The drink lifted up off the table, dripping condensation. The girl was too busy snogging her boyfriend to notice as her drink floated by her, nearly brushing her shoulder. It landed right in Harry's outstretched hand and he put the straw to his mouth to take a sip. It tasted like heaven.

"You're a wizard," he heard a voice say. A boy who looked about his age sat down next to him. "Could you tell me how to get to Diagon Alley from here?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about." Harry guiltily set the icy drink on the ground, careful to place it where he wouldn't knock it over; he so very rarely got such treats.

"Do you live near here? Could I use your fireplace?" The boy was smoothing down his slightly mussed white-blond hair and smiling at Harry, acting as if the outfit he was wearing was as normal as jeans and a tee shirt. Navy blue, bell-sleeved, belted with a cord around the waist, it looked like, like... Well, Harry wasn't sure. It somehow suited the boy perfectly, but he didn't look like he belonged in a _water park_, especially with the pointy-toed boots.

Instinctively, Harry knew his aunt and uncle would dislike this boy on sight for being _different_, and this made him want to become friends with him. "Erm, we're on holiday, and the bungalow doesn't have a fireplace." Harry hadn't a clue as to why the boy needed a fireplace; he didn't seem to have anything with him that needed burning.

"Oh. Too bad." The boy pointed at the water slides that towered over the park. "Is it fun?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy." The boy extended a hand, which surprised Harry. Other children were far more likely knock his glasses off than to make a polite gesture.

"I'm Harry Potter." He took the offered hand, and it shook his firmly.

"I've heard the name Potter before. Are your parents famous wizards?"

"Um, they died when I was a baby."

"Oh. That's too bad. How old are you?"

"I'll be eleven in a month," Harry replied, a bit defensively. He knew he was small for his age.

Draco bounced a little on the bench. "We'll be at school together, then. I just got my Hogwarts letter today."

"What's Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Draco had been watching the wave pool, but now he spun around and goggled at Harry. "You haven't heard of Hogwarts? But you're a wizard! I saw you move that cup! You can do other things, right?"

"I don't do them, they just happen."

Draco gave Harry a skeptical look. "A drink just happened to float right into your hand by accident?"

"Well, I was thirsty."

"You're like a baby," Draco scoffed. "You don't even know what you're doing."

"I am not!" Harry said, outraged.

"But maybe it's not your fault, if your parents are dead. They weren't there to teach you about magic."

_Magic_. A word that made Harry's aunt and uncle angry, even as they claimed that it didn't exist.

"Ooh, looky, Harry's got himself a girlfriend!" It was Dudley, of course, thinking he was immensely witty. He went to dig in his mother's purse, purposely knocking Harry's drink over with one foot. The lid fell off and the blue stuff started melting into the ground.

"I'm a boy!" Draco said petulantly.

Having found Petunia's wallet, Dudley pulled out a wad of money. "Why you wearing a dress then?"

"It's not a dress, it's robes. From the best clothing store in Diagon Alley." The blond boy lifted his chin up and narrowed his pale eyes.

"You kiss her yet, Harry? She's too flat-chested for my taste, but she's good enough for you, I guess." Dudley pulled a pack of gum from the purse and unwrapped every piece, jamming them all into his mouth and chewing noisily.

"I find you very rude," Draco said to Dudley. His cheeks had turned pink.

"Well, la-dee-dah," Dudley jeered sing-song style. "I find you very ponce-y." The over-sized boy leaned toward Draco, chewing his enormous wad of gum with his mouth open and letting saliva drip out of his mouth onto the other boy's robes. "AYUAGHHHHH!" The wad of gum had turned into a ball of wriggling worms. Dudley spat on the ground over and over again, gagging and wiping his tongue with his hands. Harry wagered that he was sorry he had knocked over the drink now he needed to rinse his mouth out. Small, piggy eyes watering, Dudley jabbed a finger into Harry's chest. "You are. Dead." He took off running toward his parents, wailing.

"But I didn't do it," Harry said.

"Of course you didn't. I did." Draco was grinning smugly.

"I'm still going to get blamed for it," Harry moaned. _But it was worth it_, he couldn't help thinking.

"Draco! What do you think you're doing?" A tall, blond man with a face much like Draco's towered over them. Harry felt himself shrinking a little under the man's assessing gaze; he knew that, with his taped-up glasses, untrimmed hair, and ill-fitting clothes that he did not meet the man's standards.

"You found me!" Draco jumped off the bench.

"Of course I found you. I would have found you sooner if you had stayed in one place rather than wandering all over creation. And what do you think you're doing? He's not-" The man gestured at Harry. "He's not our sort."

"But he is," Draco said. He got up on tiptoe, as close to his father's ear as he could, and said, sotto voce, "I saw him do magic."

Draco's father gave Harry a dubious look. "What's your name, boy?"

"Harry. Harry Potter." He couldn't imagine why the man's eyes widened, or why he reached out a hand to push a lock of hair away from Harry's forehead, or how the man knew that Harry would have the scar before he saw it.

...

Vernon Dursley was boiling with rage. _How dare he? How DARE he? That ungrateful wretch!_ The boy needed a thrashing, Vernon firmly believed, but there were too many bleeding hearts these days, ready to call the authorities the very second someone laid so much as a fingertip on a brat. So, instead, Vernon would have to shout. And, when they got home from their holiday, everything but his bare mattress would be taken out of his cupboard, and Harry would spend days by himself with nothing to do but think about what he did.

The legs of his voluminous swim trunks flapped as he marched toward the boy that had been a thorn in his side for nigh ten years. Small children were shoved out of the way and beach totes full of towels and suntan lotion were spilled; Vernon was a man on a mission, and nothing would get in his way. Two teenaged girls in neon-colored bikinis shrieked as he plowed between them and then he was almost upon the annoying runt. His mouth opened and he prepared to bellow like a sea lion.

His mouth snapped shut again. Like any ambitious social climber, Vernon had an exquisitely attuned ability for sensing the presence of his betters, and the man talking to Harry was obviously, unquestionably of the highest quality. Bespoke clothing, impeccable grooming, a ring with a diamond inlaid in an onyx cabochon- everything about his appearance spelled M-O-N-E-Y. "Won't that be nice, the two of you at school together?" the man was saying, and Vernon was rendered nearly giddy by the sound of the cultured, upper-crust voice. And what was the man talking about? Was this man thinking of giving Harry an in to some posh school? The gears in Vernon's mind ground into motion.

"Ah, you've met my nephew. Pleased to meet you," Vernon said heartily to the man, shoving a hand out. "Vernon Dursley."

"Charmed. Lucius Malfoy." A slim cool hand took his briefly. Unlike Vernon, who was dripping with sweat, Lucius seemed cool and dry.

"The little blighter hasn't been giving you any trouble, has he?" Vernon reached out to ruffle Harry's hair, but the boy evaded his touch.

"Oh, not at all. Actually, he and my son have become acquainted, and I was wondering if Harry might be allowed to come visit the Manor."

A manor! Was the man nobility? What a social coup that would be! He ignored the little voice in his head that asked, _Why is his son wearing a dress? _"Of course, of course! Oh, could his cousin- my son-visit, too? The two are inseparable." Harry would pay later for the face he made in response to that.

"If I could have your address, so I could send an invitation..."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes." Vernon was so eager to get to pen and paper, he dumped the entire contents of his wife's purse on the ground.

...

Draco looked back over his shoulder and waved goodbye to Harry; Harry waved back. "Do you think we'll be friends?" he asked his father.

"I'm quite sure of it," Lucius said. "Hurry up. You want to get to Diagon Alley before Fortescue's closes, don't you?" Draco scurried until he caught up with his father. Lucius frowned when Draco tried to take his hand. "You're too big for that now."

Draco pouted quietly about that for a while. His father led him into a hidden jog in the wooden fence that surrounded the water park, and Draco clung tightly as they Apparated away to a narrow twisty lane that had an ineffable air of _wizard_ about it. "Do you suppose Harry will be in Slytherin with me?"

"Well, Draco, if he likes you, he'll want to be in the same house as you, and the Sorting Hat will take that into consideration."

"May I buy him a birthday present?"

"Of course. As I said, I am sure that the two of you will be great friends." His father had an expression on his face that Draco couldn't read.

The lane opened out onto Diagon Alley. Draco was so happy at the familiar sight that he had the urge to skip, the way he did back when he was seven or eight. But he was eleven now, and more dignity was called for. He stopped to watch a street-vendor demonstrating toy dragons that breathed real fire and wondered if Harry would like one. The scrawny, black-haired boy was a little odd, but Draco had liked him anyway. And his father actually approved of him! His father approved of hardly anyone. Maybe Harry would like a Puddlemere United scarf. Or a piggy bank that oinked loudly if anyone tried to break into it. Or a Hogwarts pillowcase that changed colors when one needed to wash one's hair.

Draco wasn't quite sure why, but he wanted Harry to like him back.


End file.
